Sonnet C

For a music man.

Noble sir, it tortures me the way you
Pull upon the reins of a horse so vain.
You cannot undo trained ineptitude;
This stubborn beast will only cause you pain.
You force yourself to try and match its strength
Yet all you can produce is vengeful strife.
You push your might to many a great length;
The length you've yet to push is but your life.
However hard you press you ought not try
For trying only reaps your needless grief.
Let not the horse run free, nor make it die
For these endeavours shall not yield relief.
You must let this dark horse fall on itself.
Let it bring its own death to save your health!